They were halfway through their morning cereal when the basement door creaked open.

No one looked up at first.

Then footsteps.

A hunched, wild-haired man in a patchy lab coat shuffled into the kitchen, goggles pushed up on his forehead, muttering to himself about “chronoton misalignment curves” while scribbling in a tiny notebook. He didn’t acknowledge the table. Didn’t slow down.

He walked straight past them.

Opened the fridge.

Captain Gridlock froze mid-spoonful.

The stranger leaned in, scanning the shelves with professional interest. Bottles clinked. Something glowed faintly green.

He grabbed a root beer.

Crack.
Fizz.

He took a long drink, sighed in deep satisfaction, then finally noticed the room.

“Oh. You’re all awake. Marvelous.”

Pixel Pop blinked. Once. Twice.

Crimson Nova slowly set her spoon down. “……do we know him?”

Gridlock didn’t answer.

The man capped the bottle, nodded politely, and turned back toward the basement door like this was the most normal thing in the universe.

Pixel Pop shot to her feet. “HEY. Uh. HI. WHO—”

The stranger paused halfway down the stairs and glanced back.

“Yes?”

Gridlock stood, arms crossing with a low mechanical whirr. “Who are you.”

The man smiled. Bright. Friendly. Completely unbothered.

“Uncle Glick.”

A beat.

Pixel Pop tilted her head. “Uncle… whose?”

Glick shrugged. “Never came up.”

He continued down the stairs.

The door creaked shut behind him.

Silence.

Crimson Nova stared at the basement door. “Did… did we just get claimed by an uncle?”

“I don’t have uncles,” Gridlock said.

Pixel Pop hovered halfway toward the stairs. “He drank your root beer.”

Gridlock turned. “We’re following him.”

The basement stairs led somewhere they absolutely should not have.

The clutter was gone. The boxes. The old junk. The forgotten training mats.

Replaced by a sprawling underground laboratory.

Glowing tubes lined the walls. Tesla coils snapped lazily. Chalkboards overflowed with equations no one recognized. Half-assembled drones hovered mid-air. A full-scale weather machine hummed ominously in the corner.

At the center of it all, Uncle Glick tightened bolts on a floating toaster-shaped device.

He didn’t look surprised to see them.

“Oh good,” he said. “You followed. Saves time.”

Pixel Pop whispered, “Okay. Either we moved, or the house did.”

Crimson Nova stepped forward carefully. “You broke into our base.”

Glick waved a hand. “No, no. I used the stairs.”

Gridlock cracked his knuckles. “You’re going to explain. Now.”

Glick leaned back, considering them. “Hmm. Define ‘explain.’”

Pixel Pop pointed. “Start with why you’re our uncle.”

“Oh, I’m not your uncle specifically,” Glick said cheerfully. “I’m just… an uncle. Shows up where needed. Eats snacks. Builds things.”

A drone behind him sneezed sparks and slammed into a shelf of radioactive pickles.

Pixel Pop screamed. “IT’S ALIVE.”

“Yes,” Glick said proudly. “Progress.”

Crimson Nova rubbed her temples. “You can’t just move into our basement.”

Glick pulled a lever. A portal flickered open, clearly labeled DO NOT GO HERE.

“Technically,” he said, “your basement moved around me.”

Gridlock exhaled slowly. “I hate you already.”

Glick beamed. “That means we’ll work wonderfully together.”

A small explosion rattled the far wall. The sentient jam cheered.

Pixel Pop whispered, “We are so dead.”

Gridlock stared at the lab. Then the stairs. Then the fridge upstairs.

“…welcome to Hyperforce.”

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